Home
by NoCleverSig
Summary: Druitt reveals a secret that threatens his relationship with Helen forever.  4th in the No Destination in Mind series  Reposting because of FF weirdness


**Disclaimer:** I own nothing of Sanctuary or its characters. I just play with them. My words, however, are my own.  
**Author's Note:** This is the last in the **"No Destination in Mind"** series (at least for a time...and for this story arc). If you haven't read the others, I encourage you to, but if not, just know John is cured of his demon and he and Helen are trying to find their way back to one another.  
**Dedication: **I don't usually dedicate a story, but I'm dedicating this one to my husband. I'm away from home, and I love him and I miss him. (Sap that I am).  
_Please **REVIEW** and let me know what you think. It means the world to me when people do so. Honesty is appreciated._

**Home**  
**(Copyright 2010, NoCleverSig)**

She'd forgiven him.

After everything he'd done and been in his life, the crimes he'd committed, the sins against her that he himself could never forget, Helen Magnus had offered John Druitt the greatest gift a human being could give another.

Forgiveness. Complete and utter.

John stared at her, speechless.

"Helen…"

He pulled her into an embrace so tight he feared he might crush her, fighting back his own tears. He was scared to let go. Afraid she'd see the truth within him, change her mind, walk away, and take it all back. And after tonight, their brief time together as simply a man and a woman falling back into love, he'd die before he'd let that happen. He'd die.

They stood there silently clinging to one another for what felt like hours, the harvest moon caressing them with its white, gentle light. Their hearts pounded against each other's chests. The ocean breeze softly lifted Helen's hair, her dress, whispering through the pine trees that stood like sentinels above them, keeping watch over this, their most intimate moment.

"Take me home, John…," Helen finally whispered in his ear through her tears, her arms wrapped tight about his waist.

He recognized the words, the tone, the exact phrasing. She had said it to him many times before. But that was a lifetime ago; so long in fact it resonated in his mind like an echo. It had been a code between them. It didn't mean the evening was at an end, it meant their night together was just beginning. _'Take me home…I need you…I want you… make love to me…I need you now.'_

He pulled back and looked at her, lightly stroking her face, her cheek with the back of his hand. She was magnificent. Mind, body, and soul. There were no other words.

John took her face into his hands, their eyes locked together. He wanted to kiss her, caress her body, her breasts, pull her into the shadows of the trees, lift her dress, and plunge her, make love to her, be damned who witnessed it. But the gift she had given him was one he couldn't accept until she knew. Until he revealed it all to her. He couldn't, wouldn't take that final step with her until he did. And he prayed to God above, if there was a god willing to listen to a murder's prayers, that Helen would still want him when his confession was done.

"Helen," he whispered, his lips hovering over hers. "I want you more than any man has ever wanted a woman. I love you. I've always loved you. I always shall."

"Then take me home, John," she said again, tightening her embrace, her breath on his lips, his cheeks. He could hear the pleading in her voice, the raw need radiating from her body.

"I can't, my love, not yet," he said, gathering all his strength.

She looked at him, confused.

"Helen, you've offered me forgiveness for crimes you don't even know I have committed," he said, stroking her hair. She started to speak. He raised his hand to her lips to stop her. "It's a gift, a gift I had never imagined receiving and one I cannot accept until you know the whole of it."

"John, I know all I need to know. It wasn't you. It was the creature inside you, yes, but it wasn't you," she said. Will had told her as much. John wasn't a killer. He was an aggressive, assertive, powerful man, a reason she loved him so, but a cold-blooded killer? No.

He nodded. "That is true. But Helen, it was still me. I was there. I committed, experienced every killing, every bloodlust. And there is a part of me," he hesitated, dropping his eyes, and then returning his gaze to look at her directly, his confession ready. "A part of me that enjoyed it."

He felt her embrace waver. Her arms slip. Her body pull away from his. He wanted to grasp her even tighter, but he stilled himself and let her go. She moved only inches from him, but it felt like miles, and the fear inside him, fear of losing her completely, rose up so quickly, he felt sick.

"Perhaps there is a part of every human being that enjoys such freedom," he continued while he still could, wanting it all out now. "A moment of sheer adrenaline, a rush of doing something so wrong, so forbidden without restraint, regret, or remorse. I would never consciously desire it, Helen. I never did," John said. "But when the evil, the creature, would well up inside of me, there was a part of me in shadow, in darkness, that took an unnatural and sinful pleasure in observing its crimes."

Helen listened to him, silent. He knew he was risking everything telling her this truth. But if there was to be love between them, there had to be honesty. And she needed to know it all.

"Helen, I need to tell you of my life. I need you to know who and what I have been. And then I would ask you to decide if you would like to retract the forgiveness you have so graciously given me," he said.

Helen swallowed, and simply nodded. The fear was rising up in her as well. She knew from the very beginning that they would have to face this. Face the monster that had divided them. But she was afraid. It was so easy to forgive what one did not know. But John wasn't going to let her do that. Part of her hated him for it. Part of her loved him even deeper.

"Do you think it has been long enough that I might teleport?" he asked her. The question threw her off guard, her mind still reeling from his confession. "Uh…," she stammered, trying to find her voice again. "It's been several weeks since the treatments began. The drugs should be effective by now, yes," she said. She'd been treating him since the creature had been removed with drugs designed to block an entity from entering his body during his molecular shift.

"Then let's go where we can talk. Where we used to talk for hours on end."

She nodded, knowing exactly where he would take her. He held her hands, staring into her eyes. She saw, felt him shimmer. Herself as well, and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the sun was rising above the Serpentine lake in Hyde Park, and she felt the cool air of an early autumn morning in London.

John led her to a bench alongside the snaking water, removed his coat, draped it over her shoulders, and began to tell Helen Magnus of his life.

* * *

Hours later, he was done. All crimes, all deeds revealed. It was mid-morning now in London. Joggers ran along the path in front of them. Parents brought their small children out to feed the geese by the water's shore. And Helen Magnus sat stunned and speechless, looking out of place in her evening dress and John's jacket.

Druitt sat by her side, his white shirt wrinkled now, his arms on his knees, leaning forward, his head resting on his clasped hands. He stared at the water in front of him. Lost in thought. Or perhaps, simply lost.

He told her nothing she didn't know or hadn't suspected. He had killed many, many times over in the course of his life, in cities around the world. Always moving from place to place like a shark unable to stay still. His targets were almost always women because the creature inside of him thrilled at the fear, the raw emotion women seemed to exude over males, although he had murdered men as well.

Will had told her not long ago that the individuals John had killed, although horrific and tragic, had appeased the energy creature for over a century, preventing it from killing hundreds, perhaps even thousands instead. Did that lessen his crimes? No. But in some irrational way, Helen thought, it made it better.

They'd been silent for nearly 30 minutes. Helen looked over the water of the Serpentine, Hyde Park, which connected, not far, to Kensington Gardens. They had spent so much time here in their youth rowing on the water, sharing picnics, stealing kisses and caresses. God how simple it had been for them then! Lost in their own innocence, their naivety.

She turned to him, he still staring at the water, and said, "Take me back, John."

Not _'Take me home'_….

His heart fell at the subtle difference.

He turned to her and nodded. "As you wish, my dear."

* * *

Helen Magnus couldn't sleep.

She laid in bed images of murdered women and men, so vividly drawn by John, running like a horror movie through her head. She loved him, had forgiven him, was ready to give her body and soul to him again. And now?

Now she felt as confused as she had when they'd started.

God damn him!

She had told him goodnight and had asked him for some time. Time to process what he had told her. To think about the confession he had made.

The creature had killed. But a part of John had thrilled at the excitement of it. Was that wrong? Certainly. Was it a baser part of human nature and he one of the few individuals willing to acknowledge it? She wasn't sure.

What made the difference between a man and a killer? Was it the urge to kill but the fortitude to refrain from it? God knows she had wanted to kill before and had done so in her life when needed. And when Ashley had been taken from her, she had dreamt of it, encouraged John to go on his killing spree of the Cabal. Although her hands had never drawn a drop of their blood, was she as culpable as he for his crimes?

But that was vengeance, she thought. Certainly not right, but somehow different, justifiable. This, what John had done, what the creature had made him do, was death for death's sake.

And how does one justify that?

She wanted to scream. To cry. To put the creature back inside him so it would be easy to hate him again and make it all go away.

She got up, walked to her bathroom, opened a bottle of pills and took one. A sedative. Something to make her sleep. It was something she rarely did; she didn't like to dull her senses.

But tonight, tonight she welcomed the numbness. She finally fell asleep, but when she did, the horror movie that had kept her awake continued in her dreams.

* * *

The knock on Will's door was soft, almost imperceptible. He wasn't sure he'd even heard it. He'd been reviewing case files, new residents that had arrived at the Sanctuary, preparing to meet with several of them that morning.

"Come in?" he said, unsure anyone was actually there.

Helen Magnus walked in immaculately groomed as usual, but a darkness under her eyes that told him she hadn't slept or hadn't slept well.

"Will, do you have a few moments?" her voice was soft, almost shy. Something was wrong.

"Sure, what do you need?" he asked, concerned now.

"I need to talk to you about John," she said, moving to the chair in front of his desk and sitting down.

"Magnus, you know I can't discuss our sessions…," Will started.

She shook her head. "No, Will. You misunderstand. I don't want you to tell me what you and John talk about. I want to talk to you about John. I need your assistance as a psychiatrist. I need your help."

He'd seen Magnus in all kinds of situations since they'd worked together. Always strong, always sure, always poised. But this? This was a Magnus he hadn't seen. Vulnerable, shy, confused…admitting she needed help from him in his professional capacity. He hoped he could give it to her.

"Of course. Do you want to go sit over there?" Will gestured to his couch.

She looked at the couch and smiled. "Actually, no. I completely support your work, Will. I just find it a bit embarrassing that I have to personally take advantage of it."

Will shook his head. "It's not a weakness to need to talk to someone, Magnus. If it makes it easier, we're friends? Right?"

She smiled at him. "Indeed we are."

"Okay, then, one friend to another. Tell me what's going on."

She took a deep breath and started.

* * *

"So he told you everything?" Will asked after she'd finished.

"Yes," she nodded, "Everything."

"Including the fact that a part of him, a part of John, was excited by the crimes the creature committed?"

"Yes," she said her voice low.

"Good." Will said.

Helen's head shot up. "What?" she asked shocked.

"Since he told you himself, I feel freer to talk about it. I've been telling him to tell you for weeks, but…he was afraid. Understandably so."

"You knew?" she said, almost accusingly.

"Yes, we talked about it early on," Will replied.

Helen paused, thinking back. "So when I talked to you several weeks ago and you told me that John wasn't a killer…."

"He's not. I told you I thought he was smart, aggressive, a natural born hunter, for sure. And with the creature inside of him, some of that personality is going to emerge. To be honest, it's in everyone to a certain degree. The thing that separates the killers from the rest of us is our conscious. And if you're asking me if John Druitt has a conscious, without giving you details, I can assure you he does," he paused, leaning closer to her. "Magnus. I meant it when I said a lot more people would have died if it hadn't been for his strength to keep the creature at bay. But he admitting that part of that experience excited him? He's simply admitting something most of us would never say, but would probably agree with if it happened to us."

Magnus sat there, silent, taking in what Will was telling her.

"I forgave him everything last night without knowing the details of any of it," she said softly.

"Forgiveness is pretty easy when the specifics are murky. A little harder when you know the gory details," Will said.

She nodded her head. "Indeed."

"The question for you is now that you know, can you still forgive him?"

She took a deep breath and sighed. "That is the question indeed," she agreed.

* * *

He was losing her. Probably already had. He could tell it more from her silence than her words_. "Take me back, John."_ It replayed over and over in his head all day, all evening. She had forgiven him without knowing. But now that she knew, how could she possibly forgive?

He'd taken the day off from his new Sanctuary duties. Told Kate he felt ill. It wasn't a lie, although he knew Miss Freelander was smart enough to figure out there was more to it than he cared to admit. She'd asked if she could help. He had told her no, but it was a kindness he appreciated nonetheless.

So he sat in the library, the sun just setting, surrounding himself with books. He was hiding, burying himself in distractions. Now that he could teleport, part of him, a lingering part of him, had the strongest desire to flee. To run from here. Away from her. Away from the pain.

But he would see this through to the end, he promised himself. Wait for her to seek him out and tell him she couldn't do this, couldn't love him, couldn't be with a man who had committed such atrocities.

Then he would leave.

And the thought of that came with a sadness that overwhelmed him.

He was making a home here. Dare he say, a family? Aside from Helen, which he simply wanted to put out of his mind for the moment, there was Miss Freelander. Young, energetic, spontaneous. A bit like Helen when she was young, in some ways, at least in her rashness. But they made a compatible team. He enjoyed working with her. And her energy and her youth made him feel young again.

And Dr. Zimmerman. Will had been a blessing to him. He had never openly talked to anyone of his crimes and his reactions to them before. And Will had listened without judgment or recrimination. And what's more, he had helped him to understand, to make him feel he still had value. It was a gift he would never forget.

And finally, there was Mr. Foss. Young Henry. What a brilliant lad he was! The marvels of technology he showed him were amazing, and he had hoped to learn more. In a way, perhaps because Helen had raised him, Henry was beginning to feel a bit like a son to him. Ridiculous, he knew, but still…he would miss him the most.

Other than her, of course.

He would miss her forever.

Just as he thought it, he looked up, and there Helen was, coming toward him. Beautiful and elegant as always. He knew in his heart this would be the last time he ever saw her, and he wanted to remember her well. Burn the image into his memory.

Out in the field, she liked to wear leather. He knew some men were aroused by that. But he? He liked her here in her home, in her dresses, her skirts. The one she'd worn for their date was…awe inspiring. But the clothes she wore daily, demure and modest though they be, defined who she was so well. Intelligent, strong, and beautiful.

She was dressed as such now, and he was happy that he could remember her this way. It was a simple lavender dress, modestly cut, but which hugged her breasts, her hips, in ways that would make a man's mind wander. She always wore heels, which he never understood. How she could walk in them all day was beyond him, but they were certainly arousing on her. Particularly the little "t-straps" (that's what Miss Freelander had called them). He'd fantasized, since he noticed them, of how it might feel to take off those shoes, run his hand up her hose, to her thigh and beyond. But he shook himself. Such thoughts only brought pain. And his life was about to be filled with a never-ending amount of it.

Being the gentleman he was he rose to greet her. "Helen."

"Hello, John. May I sit with you a moment?"

"Of course," he said, moving the books out of the chair next to his and bracing himself for the inevitable.

"I've thought about what you told me, our conversation yesterday. I've thought about it a great deal. In fact, I've thought of little else," she said.

He nodded, waiting for it.

"And I haven't changed my mind," she said. "I forgive you, John. Knowing everything, I still forgive you."

He looked up at her, stunned.

She reached out and took his hands in hers. " I love you, John. God help me, I always have," she said quietly.

She leaned over and kissed him gently, then whispered in his ear. _"John, take me home."_

He leaned back and stared at her. Shocked, elated, his emotions a jumble.

"Helen, are you sure?" he asked, searching her eyes.

"Take me home, John, before I ravish you right here and Will starts treating me for sexual deviance."

John grinned, a devilish grin.

"As you wish, my love," and he took her hand, and in a flash, they were gone.

* * *

They materialized in Helen's sitting room, their hands still together.

"You're a little off target, John," she said teasingly, looking at the door of her bed chamber behind her.

He laughed. "I need a known destination, Helen. I've never been in your bed room before."

She nodded her head. "Ah, that's true. A shame, that," she said, flirting. "We shall have to rectify it, just in case there's an emergency and you need to rescue me in my sleep," she said, her mood playful and flirtatious. It charmed and aroused him at the same time.

She pulled on his hands and backed into her bedroom door, releasing one hand so she could reach behind her and open the door without having to take her eyes off of him.

They practically stumbled together into her bedroom. She giggled. She only did that when she was extremely happy, John remembered. It was a rare treat.

He looked around her room, taking in the mix of old and new, foreign and familiar. Just like her sitting room, had he been blind, he would have known this was Helen's room. The style, the smell of lavender in the air, her very essence was imbued in every piece of furniture, artwork, trinket.

He must have drifted too long for her taste because she grabbed his chin and pulled his face down to hers, demanding his attention. When she got it, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him so deeply he thought he would drown. This kiss wasn't gentle, like the one they'd just shared in the library. This was full of raw need and a century of longing waiting to be fulfilled.

He answered her in kind with the same need, the same longing, impossibly deepening their kiss, their tongues tangling together. They broke apart breathless, her arms around his neck, his arms around her waist. He began to caress her, stroke her, his hands drifted up and down her back to her butt, and he pulled her closer to him. They were so close now, there was no space between them, and she could feel his hardness pushing against her. He pulled her back into another kiss, their tongues dueling again, and his hardness grew. She reached a hand down from around his neck to stroke him through the fabric. He groaned in her mouth and sucked her tongue, biting her gently. He reached down and put a hand under her dress, stroking her through her panties, surprised at how ready she was.

They pulled away from each other and just stared. Their eyes dark, heavy, fully aroused. He stopped touching her. She did the same. They looked at each other somewhat in shock.

"Helen," he said his breathing heavy. "I had wanted our first time together to be…slow," he stammered, finding it difficult to breathe, to speak. "Romantic for you," he continued. "But I'm afraid, after a century, I'm finding myself far more anxious than I had anticipated."

She smiled, practically laughed, at his gentlemanly way of telling her that he wanted to fuck her and fuck her now.

"It's all right, John," she said, slowly unzipping his pants and releasing him, stroking his erection up and down. "There'll be plenty of time for romance later," she said, grinning wildly at him.

He growled. Actually, growled. Picked her up, making her yip in surprise, and slammed her against the nearest wall. The bed just seemed too far away at the moment. And this space seemed…available, he thought.

"So sorry, my dear," he said. "Did I hurt you?"

"Not yet," she said, "But I'm waiting."

He kissed her again, tasting her mouth, her lips, her tongue, her cheeks, practically her throat. He reached under her dress and pulled down her panty realizing she only wore thigh high hose. He briefly wondered if she had planned ahead or this was her usual attire. He'd have to ask that later.

She stepped out of her underwear and kicked the lavender garment across the room. He reached down and hiked up her dress, stroking her, pushing his fingers in and out of her, around her, on her, harder, faster. She didn't want to come this fast. She tried to close her eyes to hang on. She wanted to come with him, to be with him when this happened between them, but it felt so good, so right, she couldn't find the words to make him stop.

Finally she screamed out. He'd forgotten she sometimes screamed. They used to have to be so quiet, she'd muffle it in his pillow, his neck. But this time, she neither noticed nor cared, and he dug his fingers into her, kissing her on her neck, her ear, sending goose bumps up her side, her legs. She shivered, convulsing around his fingers, her orgasm rolling on and on.

When she finally stopped, she looked at him, tears in her eyes. "My God…that was good," she panted, smiling at him, teasing him.

"So glad not to disappoint you my love," he said, "But let's see if we can make it even better." He picked her up, carrying her by the waist to her bed putting her down more gently this time.

She leaned back on her arms, her dress hiked, her legs ridiculously crossed in automatic modesty. He stood there, looking at her for a moment, his eyes dark and dangerous, like he looked sometimes when he'd been Jack. But he wasn't Jack. He was only John. And the mere realization of that made her heart soar.

He unbuttoned his shirt, slowly, grinning at her. He let his shirt hang open, revealing his taught, sinewy lines. She tilted her head and realized he was stripping for her. Arousing her again just by the act of undressing in front of her. She smiled and he smiled back, acknowledging that she'd figured out his game. So she sat back and watched him, ready to enjoy the rest of the show.

His erection was standing stiff in his unzipped pants. He left his shirt on then slowly undid his belt, casually dropping it to the floor. She felt her heart start to race again, her breathing grow heavy, her thighs wet. And he hadn't even touched her yet.

He undid his top button of his pants and slowly let them slide to the floor. His boxers were next. But she stopped him there, and took her hands and pulled them off, allowing him to step out of them. Finally, he removed his shirt, and with that devilish grin that she no longer thought of as Jack but as John, stood in front of her fully aroused.

He climbed onto the bed on his hands and knees, gradually, like an animal, stalking her. She pulled away from him up to the headboard, trapped, nowhere to go, his arms on either side of her now. He leaned in and kissed her again, pulling at her lips, nipping them, gently biting them. "I need you naked, Helen," he growled, his voice deep and husky. "I need you," he simply said.

She started to reach around to unzip her dress, but he stopped her, putting his hands on hers, gliding the zipper down with her, undressing her together. She pulled the dress over her head, his hands helping to guide her. She sat there now, thigh high hose and heels on, her center naked, her breasts covered in a lacy, lavender bra that clasped at the front. Again, he fleeting thought if she had planned this out or this was her daily dress. He hoped the latter. It would make future staff meetings so much more interesting, he thought.

He undid the clasp, her hands on his shoulders now, released her breasts, and reached down and suckled them, one then another. She kissed his neck, his ears, stroked his back, groaning, becoming wetter at every suckle, every lick.

"John, please," she said, holding him. "I want you inside me. Please."

He grinned into her neck, kissing her. "As the lady wishes," he said, his voice deep and hoarse.

He pulled her toward him and plunged inside her roughly, making her gasp at his hardness, the deepness, the intensity of it. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around him, letting him drive deeper, impossibly deeper into her.

She usually found it difficult to come this way. She preferred to be on top, or…other positions, but his pounding was undoing her. The bed shook, banging against the wall, she was sure the whole Sanctuary knew what was happening, and oddly enough, she found she didn't care.

His rhythm grew faster and faster. He wanted to wait. Wanted her to fall with him. He could tell she was getting close. He tried to hang on. "Helen...," he said, "I can't…."

"It's all right. I'm coming. Come with me, John. Please…now…," she moaned.

He did, pounding her so hard she thought she would scream again, which she did, but bit the sound into his shoulder, crying, convulsing around him. He came with her, pouring into her, his self, his soul, pulling her close to him with his long arms. Holding her there. Still.

They held each other that way for awhile. Tightly. Not moving. Simply being, breathing.

"I love you. I love you for all eternity, Helen" he whispered, she could hear the tears in his voice. She put her arms around his neck, holding him tighter.

"I love you too, John. For always. For all eternity," she whispered back, never wanting to let go.

* * *

They awoke late the next morning, naked, wrapped in one another, the pillows, the blankets lost long ago during the night. When they'd come together again, several times during the night, it had been gentler, slower, more romantic, but no less intense than the first time. Their first time in a century.

They lay awake neither one of them speaking, simply holding one another, he lightly stroking her arm, she lightly stroking his chest.

"John, you're staying here, aren't you? You're not leaving, are you?"

He looked down at her surprised. "Why would you think I would leave, love?" he asked, concerned.

"Because the Sanctuary… it isn't your life," she said quietly, her head resting on his chest. "It's mine. And I don't want to make you do something, be something you don't want. Your whole life is ahead of you. You're free. You can do anything."

He stared at her. She loved him so much; she was willing to let him go if he wasn't happy here, with her work, her mission. My God, what a creature, he thought!

"My love, wherever you are is my destination, my home."

She smiled at him.

"Then welcome home, John," she said, and kissed him again. It was their first kiss of the morning, the first kiss for many more mornings to come.

END


End file.
